


Riding To War

by orphan_account



Category: Discworld - Pratchett, Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: no_true_pair, Crossover, F/M, Hobbits, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-23
Updated: 2008-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:26:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally written for No True Pair and the prompt Merry/Maladict, dominance/submission. <br/>Since for this challenge I had these kinds of crossovers where the characters come from completely different worlds, I decided to have two kinds of crossovers: 1. genuine crossovers, where one character is plopped into the world of the other, 2. the kind where one character, more or less the same, has always lived in the other character's world. This is of the second type. Merry's story is unfolding, in much the same way, on the Discworld, and we find out the origins of Corporal Maladict.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Riding To War

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for No True Pair and the prompt Merry/Maladict, dominance/submission.   
> Since for this challenge I had these kinds of crossovers where the characters come from completely different worlds, I decided to have two kinds of crossovers: 1. genuine crossovers, where one character is plopped into the world of the other, 2. the kind where one character, more or less the same, has always lived in the other character's world. This is of the second type. Merry's story is unfolding, in much the same way, on the Discworld, and we find out the origins of Corporal Maladict.

Merry Brandybuck first saw the pale maiden in her father's hall, standing in the shadows in a gown of billowing white, her eyes shadowed and distant. Her father, they whispered, was cursed, and all eyes turned to the dark figure of his advisor. The advisor looked straight back at the accusers, with his red-rimmed eyes, and his white lips would curl in a snarl. The lord of the house himself was barely there, slumped on his golden throne among the furs, while his daughter administered to him silently.

Merry had come a long way from his homeland, where he himself was something of a prince - a prince of farmland, but that was better than a king of rocks. His companions were kings of jewels and armour, and they were here to do the talking. The lord needed convincing.

Merry wandered away, into the corridors of the long house, down into the cool of the cellar, and out onto the windwept terrace overlooking the half-wilderness of this country. The pale maiden stood by the stairway down into the courtyard, her dress billowing in the wind. She looked tired, and defiant.

'My lady,' said Merry, not wishing to spy unnoticed. She turned around, and Merry could see a drop of something red on her neck.

-

'Hold on, boy!' Maladict cried as he urged his horse on. Merry clung to his back, though he was no shorter nor younger than Maladict and really should have resented the diminutive. He'd never seen horses like these - hellfire-breathing, gigantic horses from whose hooves flew sparks fit to start forest fires. Around them, hundreds of these galloped with riders skillful enough to let them just enough freedom and just enough guidance to be worthy of the name. They were riding into battle, and Merry, who'd not lifted a sword except for a half-hearted practice match until a few months ago when the troubles began, felt like expensive baggage, or baggage of middling consequence.

He had to be there, though; he had to see this to the end.

-

'Do you miss them?' asked Maladict. Night had fallen and the riders had paused to make camp. They had a fire to themselves, as their companions, soldiers of the realm (though one of them was but fourteen, and the other too old), were asleep already, curled around themselves by the fireside. 'Your cousins, your home?'

'Of course,' Merry answered. 'Every moment.'

'Tell me about them.'

'Frodo is my oldest cousin, of course, and he used to take care of me, as a child,' said Merry, smiling at the memory. 'That seems like such a long time ago - before his parents died, and before this whole business with the cursed medallion. Then there's Pippin, and I guess I played Frodo for him, but he's grown now and a friend rather than a charge.'

'And your homeland?'

'Green and rolling hills,' Merry sighed. 'With rippling brooks and summer flowers that you'd never see outside it; low houses and farms, and dirt roads and goats and children and the smell of baking bread on the breeze. It's nothing to rival the great cities, of course, but it's home.'

'Great cities come with great taint, Master Merry,' said Maladict darkly. 'Do you know who I am?'

'I wouldn't say,' said Merry, looking up and seeing the eyes of the pale maiden from the count's hall.

'So I shall say it, then,' said Maladict. 'Maladicta. Now, do you know what I am?'

She took off her helmet (her hair was tied at the nape of her neck and disappeared under her cloak, but one long strand escaped, like a long splash of dark paint against the white canvas of her cheek) and pulled down her collar. There were no scars, no blood at all, but blue veins shining under translucent skin.

Merry felt fear run its cold fingers up his spine, grasping his belly. He gritted his teeth against it. 'Companion. Fellow soldier. My lady.'

'Vampire,' said Maladicta with a snarl. 'Hungry.'

'Here,' said Merry, calmly peeling back his sleeve, though his heart was still pounding loud, and offered his arm.

Maladicta tilted her head and smiled, her white lips retreating from over her teeth. 'You offer this willingly.'

'You are my fellow soldier, and I will be eating your rations to make up for it. You don't need them, after all.'

'Fair enough,' said Maladicta. 'Fairer for me than you.' And she scuttled up by his side and bent her head over his arm. Her fingers were cold as ice, but soft, and Merry bit his lip as her teeth punctured his skin.

His blood rushed backwards. He could feel it hissing in his veins, like the streets of a city in miniature, arteries pumping in panic. Hot, cold, and then the dark, the swallowing dark, there were stars in it, bright and blinking and then gone.

He drifted back in what seemed like less than a heartbeat, his arm aching and his lips wet. He tasted iron, and felt the touch of a strand of hair on his face a second before he felt the kiss. Maladicta was gently nibbling his lip, lapping the blood he had drawn with his own teeth. Blood rushed back, and Merry was surprised to find it rushing to his member. The kiss, the pain, the erection mingled together, and grunted like a beast.

She pulled back, her eyes half-closed, a sliver of red light under the lids. She pulled the helmet over the eyes and glanced around, but the embers of their fire glowed dim and it seemed no-one had noticed the details of their grapple.

'Thank you,' she said, not hesitantly, but with the air of someone unused to such words. She sat back, leaning on her hands, and by a movement of her hip and instinct Merry realized that she shared at least some of his unexpected arousal.

'Maladicta,' he breathed.

She glanced around again, though all Merry could see in the dark were huddled shapes and a the dull almost-red light of the sky.

Then she snorted, and turned back to him, her eyes reflecting the fading embers. 'All right. We're not even the only ones.'

She crawled to him on her hands and knees, straddled him, and pulled the cloak around them both.

There were straps and latches and buckles, but by the time his hand found the bare skin of her hip he was harder than ever, and when she slid over him she was warm and slick (so much warmer than before). She moved only a little, and when he groaned she slapped a harsh hand over his mouth. She rode him slow at first, and he gritted his teeth in concentration to outlast her. Faster and faster she went, little appreciative grunts of her own swallowed up in the wind, until all her muscles tightened like a vice and her fingernails dug into his cheeks and with a choked breath he let himself spill.

She was off him almost before he had begun to soften, and the latches re-latched and the buckles re-buckled with swift clanking sounds. 'Tomorrow you should find your own horse,' she said as she settled down on the far side of the fire. That was to be that. He understood.

She was gone when he woke, and the next time he saw her she was raising a bloodied sword, a scream of challenge in her fanged mouth, to a black shape against the sky: a slender maid against a lesser monster. Around them, men lay dead and dying, killing and fighting.

All was horror. He'd meant to protect his homeland, which was a month's journey away and probably lost already to Sauron or some other warlord. He was far gone beyond what was right, now, and into the land of what was necessary. Merry, wounded, dizzy and defiant, grasped his sword, and did the only thing left to do: he chose a side.


End file.
